ARIA

I have been inside Vance Logistics for fourteen days, and it was worse than I thought. It wasn't just a sinking ship; it was a rotting carcass.

I stood in the center of what used to be my father’s office. For the last three years, Mark had turned it into a frat house. There were whiskey stains on the carpet, a putting green in the corner, and the smell of stale cigar smoke clinging to the curtains.

I had spent the last two weeks scrubbing it clean. I fired his incompetent assistants. I shredded his vanity projects. I worked eighteen-hour days, calling investors, smoothing over ruffled feathers, and using...